


sweet surrender, loving you

by derschwarzeprinz (Brambleshadow_of_WindClan)



Series: Ich will mit dir im Nichts ertrinken [1]
Category: Elisabeth - Levay/Kunze
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, F/M, Mirror Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-04-07 01:59:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19075180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brambleshadow_of_WindClan/pseuds/derschwarzeprinz
Summary: in Elisabeth's first year of marriage, Death takes advantage of the Emperor leaving her alone to pay the young Empress a visit.





	sweet surrender, loving you

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from a line in "Lie With Me" by Inkubus Sukkubus. Also contains too many references to other songs from other musicals, Inkubus Sukkubus, and Celtic Thunder, because I can't seem to help myself, apparently.
> 
> Inspired by what Lucheni says during "Die ersten vier Jahre" about 1) Death being incredibly annoyed to see Elisabeth at the Viennese court; and 2) Franz Joseph leaving her alone a lot during the first year of their marriage (and the headcanon stormxpadme and I share that little Sophie is Sisi's daughter with Death). 
> 
> Warning for sexual content between a sixteen-year-old and the physical embodiment of Death who is whoever-the-fuck-knows-how-old, so if that squicks you out, don't read.
> 
> In case it isn't obvious from the description, Death is Uwe Kröger (mix of 1992!Vienna and 2002!Essen). Elisabeth is Pia Douwes.

“ _Elisabeth. Elisabeth…_ ”

            The young Empress stilled, dropped her hand from her parrot’s cage, and slowly turned, her eyes scanning the room. She saw nothing, save for the shadows in one dark corner, and yet…

            There. One ink-black form, darker than the other shadows and moving of its own accord.

            “Show yourself,” she demanded in a whisper.

            The raven-colored form drifted closer, slid across the floor toward her before condensing, solidifying into the shape of an androgynous young man with shoulder-length blond hair, bi-colored eyes—one blue, one green—and wearing a black velvet suit and ankle-length coat.

            “ _Kaiserin_.” Though he breathed her title like a caress of fingers over her skin, a faint mocking smile curved his mouth.

            “Death,” she replied coolly. “I don’t recall asking for your presence.”

            “ _You didn’t_ ,” he said simply, gliding closer to her with a panther-like grace. “ _I am not one for you to summon at will, Elisabeth, like a dog_.”

            She decided not to respond to that and turned back to her pet bird.

            “ _The Emperor has left you alone again, I see,”_ Death remarked. She didn’t have to look at him to see he was smiling coldly: she could hear his amusement in his voice. “ _That makes this, what, the fiftieth time since you’ve married him? I’ve lost count._ ”

            Elisabeth still said nothing; sensed from the coolness near her back that he had moved even closer. Then she felt his hand, his fingers, cold on her shoulder.

            “ _Elisabeth_ ,” he murmured, breath warm on her ear—and she still wasn’t sure how that worked when his touch was so cold. He trailed a finger down her spine, and she shivered, leaned into his touch despite herself. “ _Your husband is never here for you. I am._ ” His voice was so gentle, so soothing… “ _Let me comfort you._ ”

            His hand on her back slid around her side to rest against her stomach. She felt him dip his head, felt cool lips brush against her neck. A soft sigh escaped her.

            This couldn’t be wrong, could it, to allow herself to relax and seek comfort in Death’s embrace for only a few moments?

            Her eyes slid closed; she tilted her head back, heard him hum quietly in contentment—or possibly satisfaction. Then she felt herself sway gently across the floor. When Elisabeth opened her eyes again, she found herself staring into a mirror.

            She studied the reflection, silently taking in the way he held her, the way mist swirled around the floor and curled up her bare feet and ankles. Her body fit perfectly against his, in a way it never did with her husband, and… There was something quietly intimate about his hand resting on her lower abdomen, his head bent to her throat, as if—

            “Where are we?” Elisabeth asked instead, more to distract herself from her line of thought and how _good_ it felt, having him simply _holding_ her like this. His touch was gentle, not possessive, and yet…

            Der Tod lifted his head, his bi-colored eyes glinting with an emotion she couldn’t quite name as he spotted their reflection in the mirror. “ _Another layer of reality,_ ” he answered after a moment’s consideration. “ _Not your world, not my realm, but somewhere in between._ ” His mouth quirked in a half-smile. “ _I didn’t want us to be disturbed, especially not by your husband._ ” He sniffed disdainfully. “ _Not that the Kaiser_ ”—he said Franz Joseph’s title as if it left a sour taste in his mouth—“ _would notice your absence anyway._ ”

            Part of the young Empress knew she should _try_ to say something in defense of her husband, but a much larger part of her agreed with her dark prince and knew he was right.

            Curious now, she looked around the… room, for lack of a better word, and was mildly surprised at how much it resembled her own bedroom. “But it—”

            “ _Is identical to your room, yes. Like I said, Elisabeth, we are in another layer of reality, just beneath your world. In a sense, I suppose you could say we still_ are _in your room, but no one will see or hear us._ ”

            She swallowed, slightly nervous now, and felt her heart begin to beat just a little faster. “And why did you bring me here?”

            “ _I told you, meine junge Kaiserin, I want to comfort you._ ” Both his hands were touching her now, smoothing her dress down along the slight curve of her hips. Light kisses traced a path up her neck to her ear. “ _Come and lay with me, Elisabeth._ ” She closed her eyes briefly; shivered at the almost pleading, seductive note in his voice. “ _Allow me to give you pleasure where your mortal husband cannot._ ”

            His kisses, his touch, his voice… It was as if he were weaving a spell around her, and she couldn’t break free. No, she didn’t _want_ to break whatever enchantment he was working on her. He was so gentle with her, and in his arms, she felt… safe, warm—the same feeling she’d had when he rescued her and brought her back to her bed after her circus trick had gone horribly wrong. Ihr schwarzer Prinz.

            She’d been terrified that first night after her wedding; hadn’t allowed Franz Joseph to consummate their marriage until three days later. Now, with dem Tod, she was still scared at the thought of physical intimacy, but it was… different: fear mixed with anticipation. She’d had no education in the matters of sex; she wasn’t expected to enjoy the physical act; she was seen as a means to an end: providing an heir to the throne. Franz hadn’t—

            Elisabeth shut down the thought of her husband with the realization that she wanted to take this forbidden pleasure being offered to her and _make_ it hers, and that Death was waiting for her verbal consent. (And wasn’t _that_ a new experience!)

            She opened her eyes, met his in their reflection. “Yes.” A tremor ran down her spine and throughout her body. “Make love to me.”

            She sensed, rather than saw, him smile. Then long, slender fingers were slowly working at her dress, removing it from her body. With each new expanse of skin that was exposed of her shoulders and back, his lips brushed a feather-light kiss there. At last, she stood there only in her undergarments and then even those, too, were gone.

            Her eyes again caught their reflection in the mirror; and for a second, stunned by what she saw there, she couldn’t breathe: Her pale, slim, naked form, her dark hair cascading down her back, held from behind by the handsome, blond-haired figure all in black; mist swirling around them and his hands lightly cupping, teasing her breasts until her nipples hardened… Then one of his hands moved lower down the front of her body, and Elisabeth gasped as she felt the growing dampness between her thighs. She had never seen anything more erotic in her sixteen years of life.

            “ _Der Tod und das Mädchen_ ,” he murmured, blue/green eyes holding her brown ones in the mirror as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “ _Are you familiar with the motif, my Elisabeth?_ ”

            Her lungs remembered she needed to breathe; and she inhaled, exhaled shakily. “I—no,” she admitted. “I never paid much attention to what my governess and tutors were teaching me.” She’d been more concerned about playing outside with her brothers, dreaming, writing poetry, wanting to ride with the wind.

            “ _Hmm._ ” His mouth brushed the shell of her ear, and she shivered. “ _Doesn’t matter. You’re living it right now._ ” His fingers teased through her damp curls, found her wet sex. She gasped, reached up with one hand to tangle her fingers in his hair, and arched reflexively against him, her gasp turning to a low noise of frustration when he teased her there for a few moments more and then withdrew his fingers.

            In the mirror she saw him smile, saw his eyes slowly take in her suddenly-flushed appearance. Then he was lifting her, bridal-style, and carrying her to the ghostly replica of her bed. A sense of déjà vu overwhelmed her for a moment when he laid her down, strengthened by his bi-colored eyes studying her with an intense expression she couldn’t quite read. It shattered when he spoke to her: “ _Unless you wish it, I will not use my kiss on you, Elisabeth. At least, not this time._ ”

            She frowned slightly, confused. Hadn’t he already—? “Your kiss?”

            His mouth quirked in a faint, half-smile. “ _Mein Todeskuss, schwarzes Möwchen. If I were to kiss your mouth, you would leave this body behind and join me in the underworld forever._ ”

“I would die,” she translated.

            “ _Yes._ ” He hesitated, then admitted, “ _Now, however, is not your time. And I would rather you came willingly, rather than me taking you by force._ ” As if realizing he’d revealed too much, he joined her on the bed, leaned over her, settling on his knees between her legs, his long black coat flaring out behind him on the duvet. Remembering what had happened with Franz, she spread her legs to further accommodate him, aligning the inside of her legs with his hips.

            Part of her instantly wanted to shrink back from his intense expression as his eyes slowly wandered over her body—she still wasn’t used to feeling so exposed—while another part of her wanted to tear his clothes off and bring him _closer_. She shifted beneath him—impatient, indecisive—and stilled when finally— _finally_ —he touched her. His hands lightly brushed over her thighs, her hips, her waist. Then he lowered his head, followed the path of his hands with his mouth; and Elisabeth suddenly became aware of the heat spreading deep within her, of a throbbing between her legs. Had she felt this way when Franz Joseph took her to bed? She didn’t think so.

            He took his time, mapping out her body with hands and mouth and tongue; and she gasped sharply, her fingers tangling in his blond hair, as his tongue swirled around her nipple on one breast. Her hips bucked up involuntarily a second later when she felt his hand trail down her body and his thumb deliberately brush against her swollen, sensitive flesh.

            Death lifted his head, gave her another unreadable look; and she tightened her grip on his hair, shivered as his fingers circled her _there_ and pressed against her, lightly teasing. The noise that forced its way up from her throat was one she hadn’t realized she _could_ make: part anticipation, part fear, part sexual frustration.

            He arched an eyebrow at her. “ _Relax, Kaiserin. I want to make sure you’re ready for me, but if you need to let go…_ ” One slender finger slowly pushed inside her, then another; her inner muscles clamped down hard, greedily, before giving way as he carefully worked to stretch her. “… _then let go._ ”

            This wasn’t her first time being physically intimate with a man (the Emperor had had _that_ privilege), but for all intents and purposes, with these new sensations, how almost _tender_ he was with her… it might as well have been. She couldn’t think clearly; her world had narrowed to the unfamiliar _heat_ coursing through her, the bed beneath her, _him_ and how _good_ it felt having him slowly preparing her in this way…

            It wasn’t until he’d added a third finger, reached _somewhere_ inside her that had her panting, moaning when he curled his fingers in a claw-like gesture, that her narrowed world shattered, and she fell.

             At last, breathing heavily, her vision cleared to see him looking rather… No, that _wasn’t_ a smug expression, was it?

            It was. “ _You want to live, to belong to yourself so badly, Elisabeth, and yet you come apart at my touch.”_ His upper lip curled in disdain. _“Your Kaiser is weak. He doesn’t know you the way I do, mein Vögelchen._ ”

            She should be angry at him for that, she knew, and any other time she would have been, but right now… Her hands loosened their grip on his hair, moved down his shoulders to shove at his long black coat and get it _off_ him. He was wearing _far_ too many clothes; he had _no_ right to look as _smug_ as he currently did (even if he _had_ just given her what Franz hadn’t); he’d been the one to beg her to lie with him and _she_ had told him to make love to her; and she wanted _this,_ wanted _him_ …

            Death helped her by shrugging out of his coat (she felt a strange sense of loss when he removed his fingers from her); then her fingers were tugging at his velvet waistcoat (or was it a shirt?) and lifting it up over his head.

            Now that his upper body was exposed to her, she couldn’t resist staring—and when staring wasn’t enough, hesitantly reached out to run her hands over the lean muscles of his abdomen and upper arms, around the back of his shoulders. She frowned when her fingertips brushed against what felt like healed-over scar tissue—vertical slits—just near his shoulder blades. “Was ist…?”

            His cool skin twitched beneath her touch, and the question died in her throat at the dark look in his eyes—a look that clearly said it wasn’t something he wanted to talk about. It shifted to a completely different intensity when she trailed her fingertips down his back, then along the waistband of his pants. _“Elisabeth…”_ There was a raspy quality to his voice that hadn’t been there earlier; his hips pressed slightly into her touch. _“Lass mich nicht warten.”_

            A thrill rushed through her at the realization that _she_ held this sort of power over him, that _she_ could drive Death himself mad with desire for her. She debated over teasing him for a few minutes more, but the press of him beneath her hand and an answering throb from between her legs reminded her of her own needs. In seconds she stripped him of his pants, tossed them on the floor. Her gaze dropped, studied him, flicked back up to his grey-blue/green-blue eyes.

            _“It’s all right, Elisabeth,”_ he assured her. _“This form is specifically for you.”_ He lightly grazed his right hand over her outer thigh. _“Touch me. Trust me.”_ Something she couldn’t name—private amusement, maybe? —lit in his eyes as he added, _“Savor each sensation.”_

            Her lips twitched in a smile before she could stop herself. “You did not just say that.”

            The way his head tilted to the side reminded her of an inquisitive dog. _“Too much?”_

            She considered it, then shook her head. “No. I needed to hear it,” she admitted. It was a relief, knowing he _wanted_ her to enjoy being with him—and that, whatever he’d meant by it, this face he wore was only for her.

            Yet again aware of her own arousal (and _that_ was something she still wasn’t used to), Elisabeth wrapped her hand around the length of him, stroked him from base to tip, and found she liked how he hardened at her touch.

            _“Elisabeth…”_

            She heard the warning in his voice, guided him closer. He nudged at her entrance; she gasped at the slight pinch of pain that quickly gave way to pleasure as he slowly pushed inside. Her legs wrapped around his hips; and her hands found his shoulders, the silken strands of his hair.

            Der Tod brushed his lips over the join where her neck met shoulder, remained still inside her while her body adjusted. _“Did I hurt you?”_

            Strange, she thought, that Death should be so concerned for her where her husband had not, but then again… he was more considerate of her inexperience than Franz ever had been. “No,” she answered, letting her hands slip from his hair, his back to lay palms-up on both sides of the pillow. “No, you didn’t hurt me.”

            His mouth curved in a smile against her skin; he lifted his head to look at her, trailed his fingertips across her sensitive inner forearm in a way that had her shivering. Then he began to move within her, slowly; and she moaned, shuddered. He filled her perfectly, each long slow thrust gathering heat that pooled low in her abdomen; sending lightning arcing through her veins. She shifted beneath him, trying to get _closer_ ; gradually became aware that the fingers of his left hand were laced with hers.

            It wasn’t long before she was lost, drowning in new sensations, swept away in the madness of desire brought on by her dark prince. There was no God, no Emperor—only Death and the way he made her feel _alive_ , every movement taking her higher, higher.

            _“You want to fly, Elisabeth?”_ His breath was warm on her ear, his voice a husky whisper. She couldn’t think of a coherent response; her reply was a soft moan. Cool lips kissed her throat. _“Then fly with me, Möwchen.”_

            One, two thrusts and she flew over the edge with him, wordlessly crying out her release as he came to his own climax inside her.

            At last, spent, body trembling with aftershocks, he rolled them over and Sisi blinked as she suddenly found herself looking down at him. Her dark hair spilling over her shoulders contrasted with the white of the bedsheets, his pale skin and blond hair. And right now… she didn’t think she’d ever seen him look more beautiful than he did now.

            _“And how was it for you, meine schöne Kaiserin?”_ For a second, she’d thought he was going to say something other than “Kaiserin” and had stopped himself. And the way he’d practically purred the question... Heat jolted through her, zinged through her veins and across her nerves.

            “I... good.” She slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position, so she could better straddle him, and sighed in pleasure at the sensations brought by the change of angle. He was still hard inside her, and part of her wanted to laugh at the thought that he could give her a child right now, and Franz Joseph would never know it wasn’t his.

            Her eyes widened a second later in a mixture of guilt and panic. Her husband . . .

            Death frowned, concern in his blue-green eyes. _“Elisabeth?”_ He turned to shadow, coiled around her; a surprised yelp had barely left her mouth when he was solid again, embracing her from behind and gently easing her back down on the bed with both of them lying on their sides. _“What is it?”_

            “Franz Joseph. I... What we just did... It’s a sin in the eyes of the church, isn’t it, for me to sleep with someone other than my husband?”

            _“Yet no one bats an eye if a woman from the red-light district is picked out for him,”_ Death commented wryly. His hand grazed over her stomach; she bit her lower lip to keep from groaning as her body reached to his touch. _“Besides, Elisabeth, what we did isn’t a sin.”_ His lips brushed a kiss against her neck. _“For one thing, I’m not human and never have been. For another…”_ She could hear the dry amusement in his voice. _“…we’re already married.”_

            Elisabeth turned so sharply to face him that for a second, she felt almost dizzy. “We’re _what_? When did _that_ happen?”

            _“Don’t you remember?”_ There was a mocking glint in his mismatched eyes now. _“You said ‘Yes’ when Rauscher asked, but you never heard Franz’s reply. It’s not my fault if I was quicker to answer than he was.”_

            His mouth twitched in a half-smile at the look on her face. _“You knew perfectly well what you were doing, Vögelchen, so don’t give me that look.”_

            “I—” Her indignant protest died in her throat as she thought back to her wedding. She’d been looking at Franz Joseph when the priest had said, “If this is your will, then answer with ‘Yes’.” Her _yes_ had been quickly followed by a low laugh, Death calling her name and answering with a “Ja” of his own.

            She never had heard Franz Joseph’s response to Rauscher. Only Death’s.

            To avoid looking at his mouth or the smug expression on his face, she focused on his eyes instead, noticed the flecks of gray hidden in the blue and green. “And why would you want to tie yourself down to a human, mortal girl?”

            _“You won’t be in this form forever, Elisabeth,”_ he reminded her—which she wanted to protest was not really an answer, but he was right. _“Und… ‘kein Feuer, keine Kohle kann brennen so heiß als heimliche Liebe, von der niemand nichts weiß.’”_ His fingertips brushed over her cheek, then down her side. He propped himself up so that he was looking down at her. _“‘Keine Rose, keine Nelke kann blühen so schön, als wenn zwei verliebte Seelen beieinander tun stehn. Setzt du mir einen Spiegel ins Herze hinein, damit du kannst sehen, wie so treu ich es mein’!’”_

            Her brow furrowed as she considered his words, recognized them dimly as a poem she’d once read. “Liebesgedichte? Really?”

            He shrugged. _“It’s not Heinrich Heine—no one knows who wrote it—but…”_

            She had to admit, it _did_ warm her. “I like it.” Then another thought occurred to her, and her eyes widened. “No. You didn’t. Did you?”

            Death said nothing; merely fixed an innocent expression on his face and raised an eyebrow at her. Then he cocked his head to the side, as if he’d heard something she hadn’t. _“We should return to your world, Elisabeth. I believe some of your maids are about to come looking for you, and they seem rather in a hurry.”_

            Odd, how quickly she’d forgotten that he’d slipped her sideways into another layer of reality, that there would be people who would be seeking her attention and there was still so much she had to learn about being Austria’s Empress. She twined her legs with his, wrapped her arms around him and twined her fingers in his hair as she rolled over onto her back and took him with her. Elisabeth buried her face in the crook of his neck, pressed a kiss of her own there and breathed in his scent. “Can’t we remain here until they leave? I want to stay with you, mein schwarzer Prinz.”

            She felt him shudder, heard him groan softly. _“Do not tempt me, Elisabeth. I would love to spend the rest of the day and night here making love to you, but we both have our duties and you need food, drink, and rest.”_

Reluctantly, she had to admit he was right. She held onto him tightly, not wanting to watch as he bent reality to his will and brought them back to her bedchamber. Even when she felt her real bed beneath her, she didn’t let him go.

            Death didn’t seem to mind—he seemed as loathe to leave her as she was to have him go. For a few moments he lay there in her bed with her, his body covering hers. Then he again dissolved to shadow, weaved around her, and she heard his voice in her mind: < _Tonight, mein Möwchen, I’ll take you riding with the wind. Now get dressed. > _His mental voice sounded amused. < _Unless you want your maidservants gossiping throughout the palace. >_

            She glared at the raven-black phantom form, then glanced down and stifled a shriek as she saw that her clothes had not made the journey back with her. His quiet laughter echoed in her mind as she hastily pulled on her undergarments and nightgown. She sensed him drift around her once more; then he was gone at the knock on her door and her maidservants being granted entrance.

            If any of them noticed the scent of night and decay clinging to her skin, her flushed appearance, the traces of fluid on her bedsheets… they made no comment.

 

**Author's Note:**

> some small translation notes:  
> \- das Möwchen = little seagull (not a typical German word; I made it up); "schwarzes Möwchen" = little black gull  
> \- das Vögelchen = little bird  
> \- Der Tod und das Mädchen = Death and the Maiden; an erotic art motif dating back to the 16th century depicting a young, scantily-clad or nude woman often embracing the personification of Death like a lover (also the title of, among other things, a poem by Matthias Claudius—which was probably the inspiration for Death's part in "Elisabeth, mach auf mein Engel" with Death speaking first instead of the girl).  
> \- Todeskuss = kiss of death; death-kiss
> 
> The poem Death recites to Elisabeth, "Kein Feuer, keine Kohle", was written by an anonymous author in the eighteenth century. Literal translation (from _The Penguin Book of German Verse_ by Leonard Forster) is as follows: _No fire, no coal can burn as hot as secret love that no one knows about. / No rose, no carnation can bloom so beautifully as when two people in love are together. / Set a glass in my heart so that you can see how true my love is._


End file.
